When I Needed You
by reincarnatedwitch
Summary: When an unwanted person from the past arrives back in our two shopkeepers lives - what effect will it have on their friendship? rated T because i don't really know where this is heading. First fanfic - reviews are love! Last chapter posted D':
1. Chapter 1

"It's really not my fault I'm late!" Vince lied, silently searching his brain cell for a good excuse. "You see, a … erm… centipede came into my room this morning and asked to try on my shoes." "A centipede?" Howard. T.J .Moon (Jazz maverick) questioned, his eyebrow raised – his pen hovering over a notebook aptly labelled 'Vince's excuses'. "Yeah! You see I would've told 'im I was busy – but he asked so nicely and it's well hard to say no to a centipede, so I just thought 'I'll let him try on the Chelsea boots' and they looked genius Howard! So I couldn't stop there, I just had to carry on with the rest, and I only just finished and I've come straight here." He smiled triumphantly; surely Howard would let him off after that? It was like a bloody essay for God's sake! Howard looked up from scribbling in his notebook. His hazel eyes found Vince's blue ones immediately and he smiled. "Nice try Vince. One day you'll realise you can't fool Howard Moon – I'm like a police dog, sniffing out the truth – you think you've got away, and the Howard Moon comes at you like a truth beam, and all you can do is tremble in awe at his mousta- truth."

"You were going to say moustache weren't you?" said Vince gleefully.

"No I wasn't, I said truth"

"You totally were! It was blates obvious Howard."

"I wasn't Vince"

"I heard you"

"Can you just shut up? I do believe that this is a shop hmm? And if that front window is dirty – no one will come into said shop. So I suggest you get cleaning." He finished, hurling a dishcloth at the smirking Vince – who caught it and held it between his finger and thumb like it was a diseased object. "Naboo wouldn't make me clean the window"

"Well Naboo's not here now is he? I'm in charge. What Howard Moon says, goes. Yes sir. "

"Whatever Howard"

"Look, just get on with it will you?" Howard finished. Proud that he had won that particular argument.

Vince grabbed the cloth and sauntered over to the window grinning, he had successfully avoided a telling-off by Howard about his lateness. And in his books – that counted as a success. It was just as Vince wiped the cloth across a particularly dirty patch of the window that something caught his eye. It looked like the flash of a silver jumpsuit. But that was impossible. Only Vince Noir had a silver jumpsuit.

Unless.

Oh no.

Unless **that man** had decided he wanted another try at being Vince Noir

That copying bitch.

Lance Dior.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** thanks for the reviews guys! This is the first fanfic I've ever written and certainly the first time I've used the website (other than to read others' stories) – so forgive me if I take a while to upload or make some stupid mistake with the ratings or whatever- I'm still trying to work out how the website actually works, teehee

Also, I had serious writer's block with this one, so forgive me if you don't like it . It's longer then the last one though, so at least that's something!

**Disclaimer:** I forgot to put one of these in the last chapter, but I don't actually own the Boosh. I might wish I did on every birthday candle… but I don't. Sad times.

Chapter 2:

The magic carpet veered madly across the Asian sunset – completely unnoticed by everyone asleep below.

Being a Shaman's magic carpet, it was of course followed by a haze of frog smoke, beer cans and shouts of annoyance from several of its passengers. "But what I don't understand is, why we didn't just stay in India" Saboo called to Dennis. The head shaman sighed and looked around sheepishly as he answered. "Because Saboo I am married to an extreme sports calendar model. There is nowhere in India for extreme sports"

"Well then why don't you just tell her that India is best for our Shaman business?" Saboo persisted. And by shaman business he meant, of course, buying illegal drugs and staying up till god-knows-when in the morning.

"Because then Saboo she would remove my face." This last statement caused an outcry from the back of the carpet where Tony had been sitting – apparently a safety precaution to prevent motion sickness. Whether it worked was debatable, but what it did mean was that he had ended up sat next to Kirk – who was too busy living out wild sexual fantasies in his mind to pay much attention to the stupid, stoned, bodiless shaman.

"You ballbag!" Tony screeched "put the woman in her place, who wears the trousers in your relationship?"

"Well Harrison, it certainly isn't you" Saboo quipped gleefully.

"Halt!" Dennis called, bringing the carpet to a shuddering stop. "I will not have stupid bickering on our lads' night out. We are based in Shoreditch. And that is where we will stay." He looked around to gage everyone's reactions to his outburst, but no one looked like they were on his side.

"Besides" the otherwise silent Naboo spoke up "there aren't any Dixons in India". This statement was received by a rumble of agreement from the majority of the Shamans, and the sound of retching from Tony at the back of the carpet. Apparently sitting there hadn't helped.

….

A few hours, a couple of cases of poppers and a few hash cakes later, Naboo sat slumped in Bollo's lap – who appeared to be trying to swat something away from his kneecaps. "D'ya think the shop's alrite Bollo?" he lisped, head drooping.

"No." Bollo replied "Howard in charge – he scare customers with tiny eyes."

"Yeah I suppose" Naboo frowned "I better check on them, pass us my crystal ball will ya?"

After this was inflated and ready for action Naboo squinted inside, to be met with an image of what appeared to be Vince drunkenly fighting himself. Which could only mean one thing. "I don't believe this. " He sighed, "pass us ma phone Bollo, I need to call Howard."

…..

Howard Moon was woken from a very nice dream – about being presented a plaque by the major for being the brownest person in Leeds – by the sudden blaring noise of 'Cars' by Gary Numan being emitted from his phone. He sighed, Vince always changed his ringtone 'in case it went off in public' he had said. To be honest Howard couldn't see the problem in having Charlie Mingus as his ringtone in a nightclub – but Vince had just looked disgusted when he had told him this, so he left it. He sighed; another example of him trying to impress that electro ponce, and he'd never even noticed. He glanced at the clock 6:15 – oh damn! He was supposed to open up shop in 15 minutes!

"Hello? Howard moon, man of action speaking" he mumbled into the mouthpiece

"Oi Howard you ballbag! It's Naboo" came the reply.

"oh hey Naboo" he said flustered, trying desperately to sound more like a man of action and less like a hung-over snail. "What's up?"

"Not much, but just keep Vince indoors till I get back yeah? I think Lance Dior's due to make an appearance and I don't think he's feeling too good about your last meeting"

Howard smiled at the memory "oh right" he said. Now he thought about it; he faintly recalled Vince telling him something about Lance yesterday, but he had just assumed it was another 'Vince excuse' not to wash the window so had just told him to get on with it. But he didn't mention that to Naboo. It was nothing Monsoon Moon couldn't handle himself. "Yeah ok Naboo, keep Vince inside – got it."

"Whatever just don't let him out of your sight." Naboo said, hanging up.

Howard sighed, put the phone away and snuggled back into bed.

Back on the carpet the silence was ruined by Bollo stating; "I got a bad feeling about this".


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** thanks again for the reviews – I'm really feeling the love :') this chapter is dedicated to Nabootique16 and Chalcedony Rivers who have reviewed so far :)

I apologise if Howard seems a bit too harsh or OOC in this chapter – but remember, he was drunk! And the bad spelling when Vince talks later on in the chapter is because of his drunkenness as well :')

**Disclaimer:** do I own the Boosh? I'll give ya three guesses and the first two don't count…

Chapter 3:

Vince woke up, startled, with the duvet wrapped tightly around his legs and a thin sheen of sweat coating his small frame. He took a few deep shuddering breaths, 'it was just a dream' he promised himself, 'just a dream'. He'd been having quite a few bad dreams lately, although none of them had been as bad as this. They tended just to be the usual nightmares, like finding yourself on stage next to Gary Numan with no clothes on, or going to a gig only to find you're wearing last year's style. Those dreams he could deal with. He knew that he would never embarrass himself like that in public, and if he did he would have an awesome excuse for it. But last night's nightmare was different. He shuddered trying to suppress the memory but it came flooding back to him against his will.

_Running, running away_

_No one can understand. _

_You are alone. _

_You are lost – in the dark. The darkness crushes you – you lose balance. _

_No one to help _

_An enemy – unseen. You are unprotected. You can't move – can't run anymore._

_There is no point_

_He grins at you. And you fall into the blackness. _

He put a hand up to his face, and stopped a tear as it threatened to spill over the edge of his eyelid. Vince glanced at the clock and noticed that was only half past 6, Howard would be opening up the shop downstairs. Howard.

Vince sighed. Howard was still annoyed at him, he could tell. He thought he had been lying about Lance the day before. But Vince was pretty sure it had been him- Howard didn't even come to look out the window, and it hurt him that he didn't even _suspect_ that he might be telling the truth. So maybe he _was_ usually late for work and he did spend longer getting ready then Howard did – but that didn't mean he didn't care about the shop. He loved the shop! About as much as he'd loved the zoo, maybe more. I mean he'd given up on his GCSEs to go to the zoo, and then missed out on several chances of hitting the big time (or so he said) so he could stay at the shop. He loved where he worked. He loved Bollo. He loved Naboo. And he- he loved Howard.

Oh shit.

He loved Howard.

At this realisation his brain went into overtime. Maybe he hadn't abandoned his GCSEs just for the zoo, maybe he'd abandoned them to stay with Howard. And when Howard had moved to the shop – he followed him. Not because he wanted to work in Naboo's cramped, lonely, second-hand shop, but because he wanted to work with Howard.

Oh shit.

He loved Howard.

Howard – who must be the world straightest man. He liked jazz, stock-taking and the colour brown. He read the 'Global Explorer' and liked camping holidays. He had a moustache and was interested in History, (well the history of Jazz anyway). He was intelligent and looked at people's character – not just their looks.

He was everything Vince wasn't.

He hadn't noticed that he'd been crying – not until he felt something trickle slowly along his cheek and down to his chin. He sighed. 'Come on Vince, pull yourself together' he whispered- and he got up.

…..

An hour later a fresh, bubbly Vince with his hair perfectly straight and wearing a fashionable t-shirt and skinny jeans ensemble strode downstairs into the shop. Howard nearly died of shock. It was like the time Vince had walked in wearing a suit.

"Vince! You're up!" Howard said in disbelief gesturing wildly with his arms towards Vince's person. Vince smiled, he liked it when he could prove to Howard that he was better then he thought he was.

"Yeah – why?"

"Nothing – no reason. It's just that you're not usually up for another 4 hours yet." Vince looked at the time. He was up early! Well, it had showed Howard that he could be organised if he liked.

"Well, I didn't 'ave much on." He winked. "D'ya need me to do any stock taking?" Howard just stared. And then stared some more. Vince looked at him – he looked like he'd suffered a case of the chokes. "Howard?"

"Erm yeah ok, the stuff's downstairs". He said pointing to the basement door. Vince nodded and tried to look nonchalant as he climbed down the ladder. He hadn't even known they _had_ a basement.

…

A couple of hours later all Vince had achieved was what looked like a new white carpet (but was actually Howard's once neat piles of documents) and a pile of crumpled paper aeroplanes. He'd also done an old Gregg style crayon drawing of Howard. Not bad for a day's work he'd thought. As long as Howard didn't come down here today he could get Naboo to clear it up using magic tomorrow.

Unfortunately Howard, after several cups of tea (and a couple of glasses of brandy 'for the shock') had decided that he wanted to see just how Vince was doing in the basement. Maybe he had finished the stock-taking. If he proved to be any good he could do it more often, Howard thought. It would be nice to have Vince help him out every now and again, stock-taking was just too monotonous at times.

However, upon descending the stairs – not with much grace, he'd almost fallen at least twice – the sight that met his eyes was not one of a hard-working Vince, and piles of neatly finished documents, but one of chaos. And in the midst of it all was Vince fast asleep – his head drooping forwards on a chair.

He lost it. Looking back, he might have overreacted. But at the time he thought his anger was perfectly justified. It was probably helped along a little by the alcohol in his bloodstream.

"Vince!" he shouted, his hands trembling. Vince jumped up like a scalded cat, and attempted to look presentable.

"Yes?" he questioned, but he knew what was coming. He turned to face Howard, but the murderous look in his eyes left him reeling. Why was he this angry?

"What do you mean 'yes?'?" Howard screamed, flailing his arms around. "Look at this mess! Look what you've done! That is months of hard work on the floor, and crumpled in the corner. Do you not care at all? Why didn't you just say you couldn't do it? Why couldn't you just admit that you needed help?"

And through his outburst Vince was staring wide-eyed at Howard's angry form, close to tears. He'd mucked it up again; all he'd wanted to do was help out. But Howard was completely overreacting, and he wasn't going to just stand there and nod meekly. So he didn't.

"Shut up Howard!" he cried "maybe if you'd showed me how to do it, instead of just sitting upstairs drinking tea and trying to flog all your stupid stuff that no one wants! You think you're amazing but you're just the same as the rest of us!"

"At least I'm not vain!" was Howard's answer, "and I help out more than you! You come down only slightly late for work and expect some kind of medal! You make me sick!"

Vince just gasped; he really was crying now, the tears flowing freely down his face. He pushed past Howard and made a bee-line for the ladder, pulling himself up and into the shop. A few seconds later Howard heard the sound of the door slamming shut.

….

Vince had spent the last few hours just about all the bars he could get someone to buy him a drink in. It had been a long day; he'd found out he loved his best friend, and then lost said best friend all in the space of a day. He had been determined to get pissed out of his mind – and he'd succeeded.

He glanced down at his watch, but the numbers and lines seemed to be swirling around too fast for him to read them, " oi, man!" he giggled, calling the barman " yesh you, come here" he whispered, leaning over bar. The barman crept over and leaned down next to him, "yes?" he questioned, Vince laughed at him,

"You fort I was gonna say somin important!" he joked, the barman sighed

"do you actually need me?" he questioned, eyeing up the very drunk man in front of him – he'd have to get him out before long , he looked like a trouble maker.

"yesh actooaly" Vince sighed "whatsh the time **mr wolf**?" he laughed loudly at his poor joke and then smiled at the barman who replied:

"It's three o clock in the morning, and high time you were home. Can you call anyone to come and pick you up?" he questioned, as he led Vince to the door. He was quite concerned he wouldn't be able to make it home on his own.

"shure" Vince replied sleepily. "fanks mate, you're cool" and with that he staggered off into the road, and towards the public park. The barman sighed and went back inside his pub; it was a chilly night out, and he was glad to get back into the warm.

…

Vince collapsed onto a park bench, shivering slightly. The cold air whipped against his face and made him feel nauseous; he knew he'd drunk too much. He already had a headache, he dreaded the morning. At least Naboo would be home he thought; one of his hangover cures and he'd be fine. And it was with this thought in the fore-front of his mind that he fell asleep, his knees under his chin, on the park bench.

He woke up to a familiar sounding voice laughing, it disturbed him. He tried to open his eyes, and blinked blearily – he could just make out a sparkly suit and some brown. He tried to lift a hand to wipe at his eyes, but found that it was being held down to the bench. He panicked and struggled against the hands that were holding his body against the bench. Suddenly he felt is head being wrenched back and he gasped in pain. A very familiar mocking voice made his stomach flip:

"Well look what we've got here, a bit drunk aren't we? And all on our own? Tut tut tut, anything could happen in the dark, and who would know? But don't worry, we're here now." Vince tried to swallow, but his throat had closed up in fear – he coughed and his throat burned with leftover alcohol. That voice laughed again "thirsty?" it questioned "here, drink up". And Vince felt something being poured into his mouth. He tried to cough it up, but his mouth was clamped shut by unseen hands and his nose pinched shut until he swallowed it. He effects were almost immediate. The world went fuzzy, and then shifted a little, and then he blacked out.

_No one to help _

_An enemy – unseen. You are unprotected. You can't move – can't run anymore._

_There is no point_

_He grins at you. And you fall into the blackness._


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: hello again :) sorry this update took so long – but I had it all written and then just couldn't find any time to type it up and upload it! I have exams fast approaching, so I'm afraid this might be the last update you get for a while :( Of course I will try and upload quickly, but I can't promise anything! Reviews might help though ;)**

**Disclaimer: the Mighty Boosh does not belong to me. If it did then I'd have gone through about 5 million teabags. (I can't write without tea) :)**

**Onwards!**

Howard was starting to panic now. Vince had stormed out of the shop hours ago, (forgetting his mobile), and had been missing the _entire_ night. It hadn't taken long for the alcohol to make it's way out of Howard's bloodstream, and when it had he realised how much he couldn't remember the evening before. What had he said that had upset Vince so much? He couldn't remember. He could however remember Vince making a mess of stock-making and them having an argument. But he couldn't for the life of him remember what he had said. He remembered the shocked and then upset face Vince had pulled when Howard had shouted at him about the stock-taking, but then again, what had he expected of Vince? To think that he would manage an entire stock-check was obviously pinning his hopes far, far too high. Howard glanced down at his watch; half nine in the morning. Why wasn't Vince home? He didn't usually stay out _that_ long. In fact, he'd been gone 24 hours by now. Howard began to hyperventilate, but tried to reason with himself. He would need to come back for his straighteners sooner or later.

Another hour passed and Howard could stand it no longer. He resolved to call some of Vince's friends. He sighed and dialled the first contact in Vince's phone at random. At least Naboo would be home soon, he'd calm him down and know what to do.

"Alright Vincey!" a voice suddenly bellowed in his ear. Howard winced and realised that he hadn't even looked at who he had called; he pulled the phone away to look. Chrisy Bandersnap. 'Who?' he questioned mentally, but proceeded anyway.

"Um hello there Chrisy, this is Howard Moon"

"Who?" came the yelled response.

"Howard Moon? I work with Vince?"

"Nah, dunno you mate."

"Tall? I wear brown a lot?" Howard replied getting desperate. He could tell the guy was going to hang up soon.

"Not ringing any bells."

"I like Jazz?" he said, in a last attempt to get recognised.

"Oh! You shoulda said! The tall Northern Jazzy man!"

"That's me" Howard replied, a little upset that Vince hadn't even mentioned him at all to his friends. Though why it bothered him he didn't know. Well, that was a lie. Of course he knew why it hurt him every time Vince insisted that he had no idea who Howard was; he didn't want Vince to be ashamed of him. And it hurt even more every time because it was an example of how obvious it was that Vince didn't want anything to do with him. Not really.

"Why've you got Vince's phone?" the yelled question hurt is ears, and disturbed his depressing train of thought.

"Look, Vince left it here yesterday. Have you seen him anywhere? He hasn't come home." This was followed by a cackle of laughter from Chrisy.

"'S that all?" he bellowed "he's probably just got lucky mate!" and with that, still cackling into the phone, Chrisy hung up.

Howard didn't know what annoyed him more; the fact that the man was so unhelpful, or that he showed no signs of worry over Vince's disappearance. He sighed and moved onto the next helpful looking number in Vince's contacts list.

…

After another hour of telephone calls to some of Vince's 'friends' Howard had discovered two things; 1. None of them had any idea where Vince was, and 2. None of them seemed to care. Howard took this to mean that they weren't very good friends. He liked to think that if he went missing for an entire night, (he glanced at his watch), _and_ morning, then there would be a massive search party out looking for him.

He bit down hard on his lip, having some rather unpleasant realisations. He realised that actually, none of his friends from Jazzercise classes could even remember who he was. Lester wouldn't come out to look for him (well being blind he wouldn't be much help, but as one sense diminishes…) No-one from the zoo could even remember his name, let alone his face. In fact, Howard was pretty sure that the only person who would be out looking for him would be Vince.

Vince. He couldn't just abandon the shop to go out searching for him. And from what he could remember of the night before he probably wouldn't want to see Howard anyway.

This defiantly classed as an emergency. Howard picked up Vince's phone and dialled one last number. This time, it was Naboo's.

"Alright?" answered the drowsy shaman on the other end of the line. Howard almost cried with relief.

"Naboo? It's Howard." He replied, and then rushed on without giving the Shaman time to answer. "Look, I know you said to keep an eye on Vince but we had an argument and he stormed out and now I can't find him and he left his phone at home and I've rung all his friends and no-one knows where he is and it's all my fault!" this was met with silence. Then

"Look Howard, we're on our way back to the shop now. Stay where you are – in case Vince comes back." And then he hung up. Howard stared at the phone in shock. Naboo sounded serious, worried even. He hadn't even shouted at Howard for not looking after Vince like he'd been asked. This was bad. He paced around the shop, thumping his head into his hands and trying to remember what it was he had said last night to cause Vince to run away for so long.

That was all it was, he tried to convince himself. Vince had gone to stay at a friend's and just hadn't come home yet. Nothing else would have happened. This repeated in his head like a mantra, trying to banish worrying images of Vince lying dead in a ditch, his hair clogged up with mud. Or Vince in hospital after being in a bar fight, or Vince all alone in an alley after being robbed, or worse…

Howard shook himself, this wasn't helping. He needed to remember what had happened last night. He sat down on a stool behind the shop counter, and screwing shut his eyes tried to recall the argument of the night before.

"_You think you're amazing but you're just the same as the rest of us."_

"_At least I'm not vain!... you make me sick!"_

You make me sick.

Why? Why had he said that? Vince probably hated him now! The images of Vince dead flooded into his mind. He wouldn't even have been able to say sorry, or tell him how he felt. He didn't realise he was sobbing until he heard the bell above the shop door tinkle, and looking up he saw Naboo and Bollo walking hurriedly towards him. He tried to wipe his eyes, embarrassed, but for once Naboo was understanding. "Put the kettle on Bollo" he said.

….

Back upstairs on the sofa, a cup of rapidly cooling tea clenched in his hands, Howard had told Naboo all he could remember of the events that had led up to this situation. Naboo had sat silent through most of it, but had thrown Bollo the odd meaningful glance every now and then. When Howard had finished they sat in silence for a few moments, no-one daring to move.

Suddenly Naboo sat up and seemed to become a man-of-action himself. He looked at the weeping man in front of him and gave him an awkward pat. "Have a sleep Howard" he ordered moving away from him "it'll make you feel better".

"I can't sleep now!" Howard retorted, "Not when Vince could be anywhere…." He gestured with his arms at the grey, dismal late afternoon. "What if…" he broke down again, but felt himself being shaken by a large pair of hands.

"Howard need to calm down. You no use like this. Naboo here now, he help find Vince. Sleep." And with that Bollo pushed Howard back onto the sofa, leaving him to sleep and following Naboo to his room.

Just as Naboo was attempting to heave a large spell book down from one of his shelves he heard the shop bell ring downstairs. "Go and tell them we're closed will ya Bollo?" he asked quietly, deep in thought. Bollo nodded and disappeared downstairs. But when he reappeared in Naboo's doorway he was holding a plain white envelope, addressed simply to 'Howard Moon and Co.' in gel pen. "There was no-one at door" Bollo explained, passing the letter to Naboo "only letter on mat".

Naboo sat heavily on the end of his bed, a horrible suspicion about the letter creeping up on him. He opened the envelope cautiously and tipped it's contents into his hand. To his horror a black lock of hair fell onto his palm; Vince's hair. He passed it to Bollo, already imagining the worst. Shaking, he opened the note that came with the hair. It read:

"Hello Howard

We heard what you said to Vince. Now that wasn't very nice was it? 'E's not the best looking I suppose, but as you can see we've given him a haircut, he looks a lot better now. He likes it here with us. He keeps crying and calling for you, but I'm sure that's just a phase, he'll get over it.

If this is Naboo then I guess you already know who this is. But I swear to God that if you try and funny shaman stuff on us we'll make you pay. Well, we'll make Vince pay.

If you want him back we'll need your spell book Naboo. You have three days to get it to us. I'm sure you'll figure out where we are.

Toodles.

L&H xxxx "

'Oh fuck.' Was all Naboo could think.

…..

Not too far away Vince opened his eyes groggily, shivering in the cold. He was in a large, dark, damp room in what appeared to be a warehouse of some sort. He tried to get up but found he was tied down to what felt like a wooden chair. The ropes were hurting his wrists, cutting off the circulation and making his hands go numb. He had a blinder of a hangover, probably not helped by the drugs. 'Oh God' he sighed. He remembered arguing with Howard. He remembered storming out of the shop, going for a few drinks. He remembered Lance.

He bit down hard on his bottom lip. Lance had brought him back here – with a few 'friends'. He'd been taunted by them for a few hours he guessed, he couldn't remember it all. They'd obviously been drinking as well, hitting him across the face and punching him hard in the stomach, laughing every time he reacted. When they got bored he'd been drugged again and left to sleep. He shook his head, trying to clear the haze surrounding his memories. He stopped something didn't feel right.

And then he realised, his hair. He couldn't feel his hair.

He heard footsteps approaching and again tried to struggle off the chair, terrified, but to no use. A cheap single light bulb flickered on, revealing the room Vince was in and it's massive proportions. Also revealing a full length mirror which had been placed in front of him. He looked at his reflection and gasped. His hair. Someone had cut chunks out of his air, shaving some areas and snipping the rest short. His face was covered in massive purple bruises, some swollen and making his face look like something from a horror film. He couldn't help it – he sobbed.

He had one guess as to who had done this. One guess which was proved with three words coming from the corner of the room.

"Hello again Vince."

**Another A/N: sorry if there are any typos in this – but it's taken me hours to type up and I can't bring myself to read through it again :( Bad I know! Sorry :/ **

**Please review ;) they make me happyyyy :D**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I can't believe I'm writing this. I have exams! Important exams coming up! And all I can think about is how I left you all hanging with Vince in a terrible state and Howard asleep. Argh! All I can say is I'm blaming Julian and Noel if I fail my GCSEs. Nuff said. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Mighty Boosh. I don't own this computer. I don't own this spell-check. Hell, I probably don't even own this idea.**

**So yeah – here's hoping this will tide you over until the MONTH of my exams has finished :'(**

"HOWARD!" Naboo yelled fustratedly from his uncomfortable perch on the end of the sofa, his small head (without his turban) cradled in his hands. Bollo didn't think he'd ever seen him look so childlike. Howard jumped a little and stopped pacing; disturbed from his thoughts. He had no idea what to do. When Naboo had showed him the letter he'd almost cried again, but managed to stop himself with thoughts of Vince, _his_ Vince, with Lance. Maybe hurt. And all alone. He groaned aloud again, and turned to Naboo.

"I still don't see why we can't just give them the book." He stated, too loud in the silent flat.

Naboo sighed and raised his head to look at Howard with eyes that seemed lost in his dead-panned face. "Because it's a Shamanistic book Howard. It's not full of cheap magic tricks; there are spells in there which could blow a hole in the universe. We can't just hand it over to them. Who knows what they would do with it?"

"But this is _Vince_ at stake here Naboo! _Our_ Vince! Surely he's worth more than a book?" Howard almost pleaded with the small shaman.

But that was what had been bothering Naboo the whole time. He wanted Vince back as much as Howard did, and part of him knew that if left alone he probably would have just given in to the kidnappers' demands. But the other half of his brain knew that handing over the book would be like condemning the whole world to death, and he wasn't sure he could live with that on his conscience. Not yet. Not even for Vince could he risk the lives of an entire universe.

"Bollo no understand" Bollo interjected. He'd been silent up to this point, standing like a statue in the corner of the room as Howard paced and Naboo sat. He hadn't had a clue as to what to do. All he knew was that Vince was his friend; and there were people who were going to hurt him if they didn't get Naboo's book. But it was as he pondered this that an idea struck him, and continued to grow in his slow mind. And that idea had just worried him all the more – until he had to voice his concerns. "Lance and Harold no magic. What they need with book?"

This statement was met with silence as the other members of the room began to cotton-on to Bollo's point. Neither of them were Shaman, and it was true they'd never shown an interest in magic before… but why now then? What could they possibly want with a book of such power? Unless they were working _for_ someone, someone who had the power to use the book. Someone much more dangerous than two deranged copycats from Shoreditch.

"What are we going to do then Naboo?" Howard questioned dejectedly. "We definitely can't hand over the book if there's even a small chance that someone who could use it would get their hands on it. But we need to help Vince Naboo, I need him back _home._" He drew in a shuddering breath; holding back the tears that threatened to spill over the edges of his lids. He would need to be strong now, to help Naboo. Vince would need his man of action.

….

Vince squared up to Lance, taking in the silver jumpsuit he was still wearing, and the large purple pendant hanging around his neck. He was wearing quite a lot of eyeliner, more than Vince would anyway. He inwardly shuddered as he realised he wouldn't be wearing any by now. The tears had washed it away long ago. Tears he was now ashamed of.

"Alright?" Lance asked, smirking, as he placed a drink with a straw in it onto the small rotten coffee table that had been placed next to Vince's chair. Vince looked at it in disgust. There was no way he was drinking that. He didn't trust Lance to think that he'd give him a glass of normal water out of worry for his health, so that meant that it probably wasn't just _normal water_. Another problem was that his hands were still secured behind the chair, meaning that the only way he'd be able to get the drink would be to lean over and drink it through the straw. And he wasn't going to lower himself like that in front of Lance. He looked Lance directly in the eye, setting his face into what he hoped looked like an impassive expression. He seen Naboo do it often enough.

Naboo. Just the thought of his friends made him want to cry again. But he'd made a deal with himself. He wasn't going to let Lance have the satisfaction of knowing that he'd hurt him again. And that meant no tears.

Lance shifted his pose to his other foot, now standing a safe distance from Vince again. His sudden movement brought Vince out of his thoughts.

"I saw Naboo today" Lance stated nonchalantly; glancing out of the corner of his eye to gage Vince's reaction. He refused to crack. "He was putting up a notice in the shop window. Something about a new tenant?" This time he did get a reaction from Vince, as the young man winced slightly. Surely Naboo wouldn't be looking to replace him already? How long had he been gone? A day? Two maybe?

"Doesn't seem too bothered about your disappearance." Lance continued. "He looked a bit stoned to be honest."

Vince visibly shrank into himself. That sounded so like Naboo. But surely not? The Shaman had liked him hadn't he? He wouldn't just try and replace him with someone else after he had only been gone a few days; they'd known each other for years, since his first day at the zoo.

But then again, he hadn't always been so nice to Naboo either. Always doing things he asked him specifically _not_ to do. The amount of times he'd got into trouble and then expected Naboo to sort it out for him were almost impossible to count. And it was certainly true that he wasn't the best shopkeeper… But he thought they'd been friends.

"Yeah well" Lance interrupted, enjoying the look of sadness and disbelief in Vince's eyes. "He probably has bills to pay. Needs the rent y'know?" For some reason, Lance trying to make excuses for Naboo made Vince believe him even more. Naboo must've been trying to replace him. But why weren't they looking for him? It wasn't like this was a regular occurrence. Well, not that regular anyway.

"Makes you wonder why you ran away really." Lance stated, before throwing one mock-pitying look in Vince's direction and promptly leaving the room.

Oh. So Naboo thinks he'd just run away? Well it would explain why they weren't looking for him. But shouldn't they have at least informed someone he was missing? He could've sworn that there was some kind of procedure for things like this.

Unless they just didn't care.

If Naboo was looking for a new tenant, then he obviously wasn't too bothered about the fact that it wouldn't be him. So he couldn't have been hit too hard by the fact that Vince had just left. 'Maybe he's been waiting for this for a long time' Vince thought miserably to himself. 'Maybe they just couldn't wait to be rid of me'.

…..

"So, what's the plan then Naboo?" Howard questioned as he stood once again in the sitting room of the flat. He'd decided that he wasn't going to sit around and do nothing, which was why he had volunteered himself for the most dangerous part of the plan. Before they'd even decided what a plan might entail.

For the past hour and a half they had been working on a 'fool-proof' plan to try and get to Vince without handing over the Shaman book. He wanted to make sure that he had all the details right before he did anything that might give away that they weren't _exactly_ keeping to Lance and Harold's demands.

Unfortunately, Naboo didn't think Howard was quite suited to danger.

"Look, Howard." He started, looking up from the map he was poring over with Bollo, "I've got an idea. You need to make out that you're leaving. And don't look at me like that. If Lance and Harold think that you've just given up and left the rest to Bollo and me, then we might have the upper hand in trying to get Vince out. We'll get the element of surprise."

Howard had given Naboo his best 'withering look' during this little speech, but even he could see the logic in this idea, and he wasn't pleased. He didn't want to leave, it would look cowardly.

"Howard come back when it safe. When they think he gone for good." Bollo pointed out. It was uncanny sometimes how the ape seemed to know _exactly_ the right points to make and when to say them. He felt himself wavering round to their idea. It would certainly help Vince more than just standing here talking about a plan.

Naboo could see the look of resignation of Howard's face and took that as an agreement. "Good." He said, clapping his hands and rising up suddenly. "In the meantime, me and Bollo will get working on this potion; let's hope I can get in touch with Lance tonight."

For that was what they had planned. Naboo was to concoct a potion that would allow him to see into Lance's brain and try to understand what was happening, and who was _really_ in control. From there, he might be able to find a way out of this that could help everyone.

Well, that was the hope anyway.

"Howard, go and pack." The small Shaman ordered, in that special voice he had that broached no argument. Howard could only nod, and begin the grand charade of abandoning Vince. "And make it as obvious as possible!" Naboo called up the stairs as an afterthought.

"Now Bollo" he smiled, turning to his loyal familiar, "Pass me my turban, we have work to do."

…..

An hour later, Howard stood with a small suitcase and a trombone outside the shop. "I've had enough Naboo!" he called out angrily "I don't even care anymore!" He was surprised to feel real tears leaking from his eyes.

Then he spun on his heels and began the long trek down the road. Away from any chance of helping Vince directly. He only hoped that their little production had been witnessed.

Hidden out of sight in a bush, Harold crouched with a video camera. He'd captured everything that had just happened outside the shop, as well as his planted 'new tenant wanted' sign on the lamppost opposite the Nabootique. Lance would be pleased.

He just wondered what Vince would make of his friends abandoning him?

**Another A/N: Dum Dum Dummmmm. Well there you have it; what will Harold do with that tape? Will the potion Naboo creates work? Will every sentence Bollo utters ever **_**not**_** bring up a green wiggly line from my spell-check? Stay tuned for the answer to all these questions! And please review! I know I sound pathetic – but revising ****all**** day ****every**** day can drain a girl :(**

**Reviews might make me update faster ;) **

**Oh, and I won't really blame Julian and Noel for me failing my GCSEs, they're too cute for me to go through with it… damn those puppy eyes! :')**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N this is probably full of mistakes. I should spell-check it but I'm tired and my brain can currently only think in Russian. It's not very action-packed, but it does contain some more Howard and Vince angst, and some more Vince beating (emotional of course). I have also now planned this out so I ****think it should be about 9 chapters overall – if all goes to plan :')**

**Disclaimer: if I owned it, I would sit in an office with Noel and Julian talking about David Bowie. I would not sit at home panicking about oral exams. **

**Apologies for any mistakes…**

Howard was sat on the bed in what he would quite happily bet his life savings on was the dampest, dingiest and darkest B&B room in England. He had his knees tucked up below him, and was gripping his music case tightly against his chest; as though his life depended on it. His short nails causing slight groves where they clung so desperately to the brown leather. Through the grime of the window he could just make out the faint irregular flashes of an orange glow from a nearby broken streetlight. He had been sat on the edge of the bed counting the flashes for what felt like days, but could have been mere minutes. His entire inner body clock seemed to have stopped working when he had found that Vince had vanished. He had lived with the smaller man for over a decade, a large proportion of his life, and so when he suddenly wasn't there it felt like the bottom had dropped out of his world. Like his body could barely cope with the simplest functions. Every breath he took was laboured; every heartbeat caused a stab of pain in his chest.

The sudden vibration of his ring tone in the silent room almost scared him to death. He answered quickly; glad of any distraction from the silence that he now felt was engulfing him.

"Hello?" he almost whispered into the mouthpiece.

"Howard? It's Naboo. I think that you're good to come back now – I've placed a cloaking spell around the shop so that if you come in through the back entrance, even if someone is still watching, they won't even realise that you're there."

Howard thought that was the best news he'd heard in too long. He practically hung up on Naboo mid-sentence in his rush to leave the smelly room and get back to the Nabootique, back amongst the action. He thrust his phone into his pocket, pulled his coat on, and all but ran the few miles back.

Up in the sky, the moon looked down on the strange scene.

"_When you are, err__, de moon you can see, a lot, a lot of things. I can see the people running, wahey! Because I am the moon, I can run fast then you. I can run more, but I look slow, I look slow because I am in, err de sky. And when you are down there you cannot see dat de moon is fast. Faster than you. Yeah. _

_I'm the moon"_

Meanwhile, Howard had slipped quietly through the back doors of the Nabootique, and dropping his various cases in the doorway, he made his way up the stairs to where Naboo and Bollo were sitting side by side on the sofa. Except, for once, they weren't getting stoned. They were in fact finishing the preparations for the spell Naboo was going to use to try and find out who was controlling Harold and Lance. Wasting no time on conversation, Naboo got straight to the point; "the potion will be ready in about half an hour, I'll then attempt to contact Lance and try and see who is controlling him. When I have I'll come back and tell you what's going on. Then we can decide what needs to be done from there."

Howard and Bollo nodded in response. Bollo then rushed off (if you could call it 'rushing') to find the final ingredient, newts toes, to add to the blue bubbling concoction. Howard settled down on the floor and tried to imagine the different possibilities of what Naboo might discover, and possible plans of action that they could take. He knew that Naboo and Bollo were as worried about Vince as he was; but he couldn't help feeling that he should be doing more to help – so far he had only been involved in the preparation aspect of things, and he was feeling useless. He knew that if their situations were reversed Vince would be doing far more to help Howard then Howard was doing to help him. And he felt guilty.

Before long the timer went to signal that the potion was ready for use. Naboo didn't even look nervous as he gulped down a beaker-full of the now glowing potion. He put the goblet back on the table, and, for the tensest 30 seconds of Howard's life, stared him down. Then with a slight gasp, his eyes rolled back into his skull and he collapsed in Bollo's waiting arms.

"Now," the ape clarified, "we wait."

…

Back in the warehouse, Vince hadn't drunk anything for two days. And he was beginning to see the appeal of the now stale water on the table next to him. His neck was cricked from having to hold his tired head up without support; his eyelids were heavy with sleep, and clogged with a build-up of dust and dirt from the stale air. His wrists throbbed with a steady dull ache, and he could feel that the bruises on his face were becoming tender, they hurt whenever he so much as blinked.

But he refused to give in.

He knew that sleep would bring with it some relief from the pain and exhaustion he could feel right to the core of his battered body. He knew that drinking would clear some of the haze away from his brain and give much needed moisture to his blood. He knew that.

But he refused to give in.

Lance had told him that Naboo had forgotten about him. They he was looking for a new tenant and obviously didn't care whether he lived or died. He wanted to cry and shout and scream until he heard him, until he realised that he needed him.

But he refused to give in.

He knew that despite their arguments, despite the fact that they so obviously shouldn't get-on, that they were just too different, he knew that Howard would come for him. He knew that he didn't mean the things they had shouted at the shop, he knew that Howard knew him better than to just think that Vince had left. They had suffered too many near-death experiences for him to give up on him now. He had imagined his death many times before, and it was always with Howard beside him, reminding him of the times they had spent together. If Vince Noir was going to die, then he would die with his best-friend by his side, not all alone in a warehouse, no way. He knew that soon Howard would come, and he would tell him, tell him that it was because of him;

he refused to give in.

…..

Naboo had been in a trance for about 10 minutes before he came-round to the relieved stares of his flatmates, demanding water. Howard searched his expression for any sign of what had happened, what he had discovered about Lance, about who they were really dealing with, but found no clue in the shaman's deadpan expression. When Naboo had recovered enough, he sat back on the sofa and looked Howard in the eye.

"It's not good." He stated, looking apologetic and scared at the same time. Two expression Howard had never expected to see on his usually impassive face "it's the Hitcher. He's back, again. And this time he wants the book."

"Oh god." Howard mumbled, burying his face in his hands. Could things get any worse?

"There's more, I saw what they did to Vince. Not live or anything, just a memory that Lance was thinking about as I entered. And to be honest Howard I don't think we can afford any mistakes if we want to get him out safely. They aren't pissing about". Naboo could see the tensing in Howard's shoulders as he said this, but continued regardless, "and Harold took a tape last night when you left, but they're planning on showing it to Vince, they even told him that I was planning on replacing him."

Bollo made particularly vicious grunt from the doorway where he had been listening. "When I find Hitcher, he gonna look like mushy peas…"

…..

Harold had just finished downloading the tape from the video camera and converting it on a video format when he almost ran straight into Lance. He apologised quickly, before seeing that the man didn't look altogether 'there'.

"Lance?" he questioned, "what are you doing? This isn't funny y'know." The man in question just stood silently, rocking slightly. Harold waved his hand in front of his face a few more times, before concluding that he was having him on.

"Well I'm not falling for one of your tricks again. This'll be just like that time with the burning toast." Getting no response, he barrelled on, "I've got the tape, and now all we need to do is move the TV to his room. Once he sees this he'll loose all faith in those useless pricks. Lance? Lance, I'm gonna do it without you… Lance!" he lost all patience and slapped him around the face. Lance seemed to surface back to reality;

"What the fuck was _that_ for?" he spluttered, touching his face where a slight red hand-print was beginning to show, "you overgrown brown berk! That hurt!"

Harold just waved the tape in his face as an explanation, and the two of them set off for Vince's 'room'.

…

Vince looked up to see lance entering his room with, Howard? His heart leapt, then sunk lower as he realised with dismay that it was only Harold. He couldn't hold an elbow patch to Howard, he thought angrily, trying his best to keep the venom out of his eyes and remain impassive. Then he noticed that the two dickheads were wheeling something in front of him, a TV? What good would that be? When Lance seemed satisfied that it was in a good position he flounced off, leaving Harold to attempt to work the outdated machine. Vince felt himself getting angry at Lance, before he realised that he usually left Howard to do all the work as well, and that's kind of how he got into this situation on the first place. With a final thump from Harold the machine hummed into life, and began showing a recording from outside, the Nabootique? Vince tried to remain uninterested, but his façade slipped a little.

The old screen showed an image of the shop, still it up on the inside. Outside, on a nearby lamppost a poster fluttered in the breeze. On closer inspection it read

'New Tenant Wanted.

Must be hard-working and not allergic to animals.

Preferably male.

Enquire within'

He gulped. So it was true then. The small part of his brain that had been clinging to the hope that Lance and Harold were lying to try and get to him gave up when confronted with evidence of Naboo's betrayal.

A noise from the TV brought him back to reality. He could see Howard, his Howard, coming out of the shop. He was carrying several suitcases and his trombone case, he looked like he was… leaving? But surely not. Howard wouldn't give up on him too?

"I've had enough Naboo!" Howard's voice had Vince concentrating firmly on the image on the screen. "I don't even care anymore!".

The tape cut off.

"I don't even care anymore."

Howard didn't care. Howard had abandoned him as well. He had left. For a moment Vince's brain cell couldn't comprehend it.

_His_ Howard, had just abandoned him. And then he broke down.

He gave up.

**Another A/N evil Lance, evil Harold, and now… Evil Hitcher! So much evil, so little time…. **

**:') please reviews? Because now I know how many of you are reading and not reviewing, and I'm worrying that you hate it :'( **

**Again, feel free to point out any mistakes :) **


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I know I know! It's been too long! But don't kill me; I have so much to give! (Another 2 chapters ;) ) My excuses are a bit lame, but basically I lost my inspiration. My brain just decided that it didn't actually want to co-operate, and so went on a Sun cut-price holiday. But it's back now, and it's got a tan so it's quite happy and willing to write :) Oh, and in honour of the end of Harry Potter, there is a not-very-well-disguised reference in here, points to reviewers who can spot it :D**

**Disclaimer: Nope. But if I did I'd say that anyway. So do I? I don't. But do I? No.**

**This one's a long-un. Hereee, weee, goooo!**

It had been four hours since any of them had moved from their positions crouching around the crystal ball in the centre of the room. Surrounding them on the floor was a carpet of white, scrunched-up, paper. Reminding Howard only too much of the day that this all started, when he'd found Vince surrounded by his once-neat stocktaking scattered all over the floor in a usual Vince style. What he wouldn't give to have Vince here now, throwing all his work around, creating mess, and just being _Vince_.

But he wasn't here now, which was what they were trying to change.

The papers scattered all over the floor were discarded plans. Ones that they had deemed 'not good enough'. Several were too complicated, or too simple. Some required potions that took days to complete, others had a risk too high to use. It was another two hours before they had selected a plan, and going over the details when they had one was one of the hardest things Howard had to do. He was in a constant battle with his body to stop himself running after Vince and ruining the one chance they had to get him back without giving up the book. But he managed it, just, as Naboo went over the details for the third and final time.

Their plan appeared pretty simple at first glance. Unfortunately, at the second, it got a whole lot more complicated.

Their plan was this; Naboo would act as the Hitcher and get Lance and Harold to leave the building. Howard would then sneak in around the back (considering they could find an entrance) and free Vince. They'd leave the same way and Naboo would make sure Lance and Harold wouldn't realise Vince had gone until they were far away. It would be Bollo's job to go for help if something went wrong, seeing as it was unlikely he'd be able to be silent and subtle enough to help Howard, and everyone knew the Hitcher didn't have an ape.

Simple-ish anyway. Unfortunately, their plan left a lot to chance.

They had based pretty-much the success of the whole escapade on the fact that _somewhere_ there would be a back-entrance for Howard to get in and out of. The plan also needed Naboo to disguise himself as the Hitcher, which would require him to use a certain potion that gave the user the appearance of any other who they were thinking about at the time of swallowing it. Seeing as this potion hadn't been used by the board of Shamen, (the only known use of a potion similar to this was by their distant magical acquaintances in the south), no-one really knew how long it would last.

So there was quite a lot that could go horribly, terribly, wrong.

Howard tried not to think about that.

The rest of the night was spent engaged in an almost military operation. The silence broken only by requests or urgent questions.

"Pass us the Herb Bollo."

"We need more water"

"What's the time?"

"I need more dust."

"Where Naboo?"

That last one was slightly unexpected, and roused Howard from his silent unthinking state at the table where he was busy with Vince's creative kit, trying to silence the soles of his shoes.

"What? How long has he been gone?"

"'Bout 5 minutes. He said he need to take care of something."

"Oh right. Well, I'm sure he knows what he's doing." In truth, Howard wasn't really that ready to put all his faith into Naboo, but he really didn't have time to go chasing after him. And the fact that he had been gone for 5 precious minutes meant that whatever it was he was doing, it was important.

Bollo was thinking along the same lines; but he was forcing all his energy into keeping a steady rhythm of stirring in the cauldron; a very important action. He could see the small purple spots beginning to form a skin on the liquid, and a light green mist began to swirl around the edges. It was almost ready.

As if he were able to judge this from a long-distance, Naboo reappeared. Knowing from one glance at Howard's face that he had been worried about where he had gone, he answered;

"I needed to alert the board of Shamen that should Bollo come to them tonight, they need to _not_ faff about, but get their arses down to where we are as quickly as bloody possible." Howard almost cracked a smile imagining Dennis getting that earful from Naboo. But any slight humour derived from the situation disappeared immediately when Bollo announced that they had about 10 minutes for the potion to be ready, and when it was they would have to leave. They weren't planning on taking any chances with how long it would last.

Howard moved the fastest he'd ever moved in his life, managing to get changed in about 5 minutes. He removed his brown chords and replaced them with a pair of black leggings (taken from Vince's wardrobe and pulled beyond recognition in an effort to cover his ankles). He also swapped his noisy shirt for a black long-sleeved top from the back of his own wardrobe. He then pulled his new 'silent' shoes onto his feet and pronounced himself ready.

Naboo had also been preparing. He had removed his turban and trainers, pulled his hair back into a pony-tail and swapped his robes for an over sized dressing-gown in a horrible puce shade. By the end of the 5 minutes he looked like an unwashed art-student on a gap year.

Bollo had pulled the carpet out of storage, and thrown it out the window where it hovered waiting for any occupant. He also grabbed the crystal ball and placed it carefully on a chain around his neck, so as to be able to contact any of the Shamen quickly if needs be; all the while keeping a steady eye on the potion as it bubbled quietly in the cauldron.

Then, with a loud POP, the potion was ready.

Wasting no time, Howard clambered out the window and onto the carpet, grabbing a pen knife on the way out; reckoning that it wouldn't hurt to be prepared. Naboo tried to ignore the panic that seemed to be trying to rise up his throat. He didn't really know if this would work at all. But he had to try. Bollo ladled a large spoonful of the now fully-purple liquid into a plastic beaker. If Naboo wasn't so terrified he would've almost found the childishness of this action funny. As it was, he almost wanted to cry.

But of course he didn't show this; taking care to keep his impassive mask in face, he lifted the cup in a silent salute, and downed the lot. As he swallowed he thought about a London skyline, the feel of a dagger in his hand, the feel of an eel in your throat, the feel of a polo over one eye and a gargantuan thumb on one hand. Trying not to wince as he felt his skin begin to prickle and mutate. Bollo scooped up his slowly growing master and placed him tenderly on the carpet, taking care to make sure the writhing man was safe before starting the carpet up, and speeding off towards the warehouse that Naboo had described to them earlier.

Howard tried not to panic when he saw Naboo wriggling around on the carpet, his face screwed up in pain, as his legs began to lengthen and his hair began to recede and turn into a wiry grey colour. He tried not to react as Naboo whimpered when his chin also changed shape, and his nose got longer and pointier. Howard also noticed his skin began to age, faint wrinkles appearing on his forehead. When there was no trace of Naboo left in the cockney features, the skin began to turn green, almost as if it were being coloured in with felt-tips. Finally, the dressing gown transformed into the black and white coast of the Hitcher, a top hat appearing on the grey hair. And a large polo ringed one eye.

Naboo lay still and silent for an agonising two minutes as the carpet continued to hurtle towards their dingy destination.

Finally though, he twitched an arm, fluttered his eyelids open, and slowly sat up; clutching his head. When he spoke it was no longer with the impassive lisp that Howard knew and recognised, but a harsh cockney accent, riddled with the Hitcher's mannerisms.

"Where are we then boy?"

...

It was another two minutes before Bollo landed the carpet out of sight around the back of the warehouse. He had noticed upon arriving that there was a small window that had been left agar – perfect. It was high up, which would have been a problem for most people, except that they had the carpet, and Bollo was able to navigate over to the window quite easily. Howard didn't say a word the entire time, but he kept stealing uneasy glances at Naboo as he sat there with the familiar scowl on his green face.

When he was opposite the window, he looked Naboo and Bollo in the eyes, gave a small smile, and began to lower himself slowly through the small gap. Thanking whatever stars there might be that he had refused chocolate cake a few weeks before. Dropping to the floor when through he sent another silent thank you to the stars for his modified shoes, before cursing under his breath when he realised he had neglected to pack a torch. He stood still for a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to the near blackness and to gather his surroundings.

He then set off in search of Vince, taking care to stick to the walls, maintaining contact between his hand and the steel wall at all times, so as to be able to find his way back; or press himself into the wall should he need to hide.

He had been walking in this way for a few minutes before he saw any sign of any inhabitants. Every step he took that made a slight noise made him stop and wince. Every time the steel walls emitted a sound he almost died of fright. The only light he had was the moonlight filtering through the small, evenly-placed, windows.

He had just passed another of these, noting that it was also locked, when he saw the slight flicker of artificial light coming from under the door of one of the rooms. The door was slightly ajar, and, taking a deep breath, Howard peered around the edge of the door to see a sight that simultaneously made his heart soar, and plummet.

He saw Vince. But Vince wasn't moving. He was sat in the middle of the great, dark expanse of a room; his hands and feet seemingly tied to the chair. His hair hung in clumps around his face and his face was covered in dark patches that Howard suspected to be bruises. The light was being emitted from the old TV that was placed directly in front of him, the snowstorm creating a patterned light that played across the broken man's features. Howard could see that his eyes were wide and unseeing. His face looked blank and he didn't react to the taller man now approaching him from his side.

Wasting no time Howard had checked around for anyone that might be watching; and seeing no one, ventured forwards into the room. Mindful not to run for fear it would alert someone to his presence. He finally got to within touching distance of the smaller man, and tentatively reached out to brush his fingers on his arm, trying to get a response without making him jump. Vince didn't react.

He didn't react when Howard patted him on the arm, or when he crouched down in front of him and waved his hand in front of his face.

Howard was scared. Vince was alive, he could see that. But it looked as if he was in some kind of trance, and he didn't know how he could wake him up.

"Vince?" he whispered; the sound echoing slightly in the empty room.

This did get a response. The smaller man trembled as though terrified. Howard reached out an arm to touch him; to comfort him. And this time the smaller man cringed away.

"Vince it's me, Howard" He said, fighting the urge to cry as he saw the large blue eyes blink slowly in the light from the TV. Vince parted his lips a little and inclined his head towards Howard, but his eyes seemed to look through him.

"No." He answered. His voice was dry and broken, cracking on the one syllable. "No." He repeated, more firmly this time.

Howard swallowed loudly before replying. "It is me Vince, I'm here, I'm going to get you out. Don't worry."

But he was met with the same reply again.

"No."

He wanted to give-up. He wanted for this all to be over and for them to be back at home. No, he wanted for this never to have happened. He wanted to sit and shake the smaller man back to his senses.

But what he actually did was kneel by the chair, and using the knife from earlier, begin to slice through the ropes holding Vince to the chair. All the while the younger man repeating the one syllable like a mantra. "No."

...

Meanwhile, Bollo had escorted Naboo round to the front of the building. Knowing that they had limited time, Naboo only informed Bollo to keep an eye out for any trouble, before emerging from their hideout behind a skip and striding purposefully towards the gaping black entrance of the warehouse. Bollo tried not to imagine it as a mouth.

Once there, he immediately saw Harold sat with a book in what would have once been the loading bay. Summoning all his courage he called out to him. Trying not to look surprised at the accent that came from his transformed lips. Throwing in a few 'Hitcher arm movements' for good measure, he tried to look as imposing as possible. Something he'd had a lot of practise at in the past.

"Oi, Wha' d'ya think you're doing boy? Just 'aving a sit-down on the job are ya? Got a bit tired and thought you'd 'av a little rest? Where's the lady man? I ain't got time for your mucking about."

Seeing what appeared to be the Hitcher stood in the doorway, Harold almost fell off his chair in shock. Throwing mumbled apologies over his shoulder, he ran off in search of Lance, reappearing in a matter of minutes. Lance looked as scared as Harold, his usual cockiness absent from his features as they walked over to where Naboo stood just outside of the doorway, his bony hands thrown awkwardly on his hips. In full and easy of view of Bollo, just in case. When they were stood in front of him, shaking slightly, Naboo allowed himself a smile; his larger lips being pulled back from unfamiliar teeth.

This ugly grimace was enough to make Lance and Harold weak at the knees; but they tried not to show it. Naboo knew that he was being unfair in taking pleasure from scaring the two men, as he now knew that they were not in control of what they were doing.

As soon as Harold and Lance had half-run out of the warehouse towards him, he could see the two identical purple amulets around their necks. Both glowing slightly in the moonlight; and he knew then that they were not in control of their actions. The amulets were a primitive alien technology – originating from a planet not far from Xooberon - which allowed the owner to control the actions of anyone who wore them. Which meant that Lance and Harold probably wouldn't even remember this ever happening.

Not wanting to waste any of their limited time, Naboo reached forwards to rip the amulets from around the two men's necks. But before he could, he heard a voice that sent chills down his spine. Mainly because it was his voice. Well, the voice he was currently using anyway.

"Who the 'ell are you then?"

Naboo gulped, spinning round on his heels, he was face to face with the Hitcher. The real Hitcher. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the Bollo crawl from behind the skip and lumber off to get help; all he needed to do was bluff his way out of this until then.

But even as this thought crossed his mind he felt his skin begin to prickle again. And this time it wasn't from fear. He realised that the potion probably only lasted until you were presented with the person you were imitating. As he searched his brain for something, _anything_, to say that would buy him some more time; his legs begin to shorten. His skin gradually returning to his usual pallor. It was mere seconds until a polo dropped from his eyes and rolled across the cement. Spinning round like a penny until it lay still.

He hoped Howard had managed to get Vince out.

...

Howard had indeed almost finished. As Naboo began to panic, the last of the ropes fell from around Vince's ankles. Vince didn't react in any way to his new-found freedom, leaving Howard to scoop him up in an almost bridal fashion before carrying him from the room; pulling the lead from the TV in one final act of defiance.

Howard navigated his way back to the small ajar window quickly. Almost creaming with frustration when he saw how high up it was. He'd need another exit.

Placing Vince on the floor shakily, he begged the smaller man to try and walk. With a little help from Howard, Vince stood on shaky legs, he had stopped talking now. Opting instead for a creepy silence. He did however allow himself to be dragged by the hand out of the room, and he obediently followed Howard around the warehouse, searching for a doorway or low window that they could use to escape. Not knowing that outside their chances of escaping were becoming increasingly slim.

**Another A/N: tadaaa. A bit darker than the other chapters I suppose. And a lot longer! But I thought that after my lengthy absence I owed you all. Please review! And do let me know if you spotted the Potter reference. Thank you! :)**

**(A note to anyone who is reading my other multi-chapter fic 'Storytelling Mishap'. It is on hold until I finish this one, because I don't particularly want to rush either of them :D )**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I am in a very, very bad mood. The reason is this - I no longer have Microsoft word. The program has gone all stupid on my computer and confused itself. How utterly annoying. But I am now on school holidays! Wooo! :D Anyway, I think that this counts as the last chapter, in that the next chapter is going to be the tying up of loose ends and a kind of epilogue. :D**

**Disclaimer: Yeah I own the Boosh. I also own 5 tame unicorns, my own country and a record deal. Dream on.**

**Dedications: This chapter is dedicated to **Beakyboo**, **Chalcedony Rivers**, **Hats-For-Alice**, and **Smelling Margaret**, whose lovely conversations keep me sane 3 **

_It was mere seconds until a polo dropped from his eyes and rolled across the cement. Spinning round like a penny until it lay still._

…

Naboo gulped. He was rapidly returning to his normal height, which wasn't very imposing or particularly threatening. The Hitcher; (who had, seconds previously, been the _exact _same height as him), now towered above him. The eyes he had been using now turned against him in an evil, if not slightly confused, sneer.

He knew there was no point in trying to move, he knew that if he did there was every chance he would end up trying to hold back the tears on the floor again. And right now the floor, next to the Hitcher's boots, was not looking to be a enticing place. He screwed up his eyes as he felt his face contort back into it's natural position. He knew that he was probably only being left to do this in peace because the others were too disgusted to come near enough to hit him. Only able to open his eyes again when the pain from his skin being stretched had stopped. He was met with quite a disturbing sight.

Not only had Bollo _not _reappeared with help yet, But the Hitcher was standing directly in front of him, flanked on either side by Lance and Harold, (glowing amulets intact). And he was standing a few feet shorter than them, close enough to see up the Hitchers oversized nostrils, and he was wearing a dressing gown. A dirty, yellow, dressing gown. His hair was pulled back from his face in a way that left his neck completely on show, and he was feeling very self conscious without his turban.

This wasn't how he had envisioned the rescue mission to end.

In front of him, the Hitcher seemed to be torn between killing him with his bare hands, or laughing at him. Thankfully, he opted for the latter; for the moment anyway. And as the cockney laughter filled his ears, Naboo debated running. But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, the Hitcher stopped laughing; and with the wave of a green hand, Lance and Harold stood behind him. Encasing him in an almost triangular ring. That was when he knew he was going to need to 'up his game', and keep his enemies occupied, and hope on every bloody star and eyelash there was that Bollo hadn't taken a wrong turning on his way to the board of Shamen.

….

Meanwhile, Howard was still dragging a scarily distant Vince around the many winding corridors of the warehouse. Worrying about Naboo and Bollo, worrying about what he would do if he couldn't find a way to get Vince out, worrying about what to do if he did. The smaller man was still scarily silent. And in a short break to get his breath back, Howard was able to study his face in the light from another window, which he had already assessed to be locked and too high-up to clamber through.

Vince's once-gleaming hair now hung in greasy clumps around his face. Shorn bits of scalp showing through the black of his hair. He no longer had any layers, but every part of his hair was a different length; the fringe being the only part that remained at his normal length, if a little higher and less even. His skin was bruised and battered. He had a split lip, with the remains of blood crusted at the edge of the cut. A black eye showed the contrast between his ghostly pale complexion and the deep purple of the bruise, a cut where the attacker must have been wearing a ring. Both his wrists and ankles were rubbed raw from the ropes, angry red burns perfectly encircling the thin bones. His skin was dry and his lips were chapped from lack of water. His eyes were sunken and he looked about ready to collapse from lack of sleep; but Howard was sure he hadn't even seen him blink once.

This was not the Vince he knew. The Vince he knew would have been dragging Howard around, ignoring his whispered implorations to be quiet. Talking about how much he needed a bath, or a haircut, or _something_. In fact, Howard had no idea what to do with Vince. No idea where they were. And no idea how to get out.

So he sat down with his back against the steel wall, and waited in the silence. Vince swaying slightly above him. He didn't know how long he sat there, holding his head in his hands, and trying to calm his screaming brain. It could have been seconds, it could have been hours.

Either way, he was startled from his reverie by the sound of aggressive laughter coming from the other side of the wall. He jumped violently, and noticed that the voice had provoked a reaction from Vince as well; as he began to shake violently. Howard jumped up and held onto him tightly, all fears about how he wasn't acting like he normally would expect gone from his mind.

All he knew now was that it was _his _Vince stood in front of him. _His _Vince was terrified of whatever was happening outside, and Howard needed to look after him.

So he carefully manoeuvred the trembling man into a sitting position, with his legs splayed out in front of him, noting that his body was as floppy as a rag doll's. When he was satisfied that he was comfortable enough, and not likely to wander off on his own, Howard set off in search of the entrance. For he was sure that the people he could hear outside were relatively close, which in turn meant there had to be the front door here somewhere. He wanted to check that the cockney voice outside was Naboo's, and then he'd be able to bring Vince round and they'd be able to get him home. He had only been looking for about 5 minutes when he saw the rectangle of moonlight cast across the floor by the doorway.

Not wanting to reveal his presence immediately, he flattened himself against the wall and poked his head around the doorway. Trying desperately to remember an old spy film Bollo had once made them all watch. When he did eventually peer over the dismal sight of the concrete car park, he saw the one thing that he really didn't even want to think about.

He saw the Hitcher with his back to him, laughing and pointing at something stood before him; something yellow. Naboo.

'Oh dear' was pretty much the first thought that crossed his mind. Followed immediately by 'Where's Bollo?'

…..

The ape was at that very moment speeding back to the warehouse. Grumbling about the uselessness of Dennis and scowling at Tony as he puked over the side of the carpet unknowingly onto some woman's head down below, (she was hailed as a new style icon).

Really he was worried about Naboo. He really didn't know what to expect when he got back, and if the Hitcher had thought to wonder yet about why exactly Naboo was wandering around impersonating him, then the scene might be worse then he even wanted to think about. He hoped that Howard had enough sense to keep an eye on Vince, and not do anything stupid until he got there with help.

Help going by the names of Tony, Saboo, and Kirk. The Carpet was only a 4 seater, and apparently Dennis had had some kind of honest reason for being a completely useless prick.

Growling at the arguing Shaman behind him, he urged the carpet on faster through the night.

….

Naboo was racking his brains for anything that would help him to keep alive until Bollo got back. The ape was getting closer, he could feel it in that part of the brain that humans liked to forget about; the bit they called the 'sixth sense'. Thanks to the fact that he was a Shaman, this sense was heightened and he could tell that his familiar was getting closer. He had about 6 minutes, tops.

The Hitcher had stopped laughing by now. The small yellow man had been amusing for a while; and although he knew that with Lance and Harold by his side he had the upper hand, he couldn't shake off the feeling that his captive was waiting for something, or some_body_. And it just wouldn't do to let him get out of this _that _easily. No one thought they could trick the Hitcher and get away with it. So he lunged forwards towards the smaller man, fully intending on slashing him right back to the planet he came from. He was prepared for the futile attempts at distraction, it almost always happened.

Naboo was panicking. So he did the only thing he could think of; he'd seen it once in an old spy film Bollo had once made them watch.

"look!" He suddenly shouted, pointing over Lance and Harold's heads into the distance, "What is _that_?"

He hadn't really expected it to work, and sure enough the Hitcher showed no signs of being fooled by such a simple trick. Unfortunately for the Hitcher, Lance and Harold weren't so suspicious of Naboo's motives, and immediately turned their heads to stare at the nothing that Naboo had pointed out to them.

Naboo quickly realised that this was probably going to be his only chance to stop Lance and Harold; and give himself a better chance against the Hitcher. So, without even a pause, he reached up and snapped the glowing amulets from around their necks. Throwing them to the ground and smashing them against the concrete before the Hitcher could make any attempt to stop him.

There was an awkward moment of silence where the four men all stared at the smashed amulets in amazement. Waiting for _something _to happen.

Then with a shake of their heads, Lance and Harold seemed to wake up from a dream; blinking drowsily and swaying slightly on their feet. Harold looked unsteady and slightly nauseous, and placed his hand on Lance's shoulder in an effort to steady himself. Lance was grabbing at his head, as if he feared it might fall apart if he didn't keep it in place. His own legs looking shaky and unbalanced. Naboo grinned, they'd be fine, it just seemed that their bodies were having difficulties in catching up on what they'd missed.

Naboo was snapped out of the reverie this small victory had granted him by the Hitcher grabbing the collar of his dressing gown and yanking him upwards off his feet. His green face pressed almost nose-to-nose as he sneered down at the dangling Naboo.

"Well done boy, praise where it's due and all that. But you're gonna regret that. That was a stupid thing to do. Very stupid. You aren't in a nice position now are you. Enjoying this are you boy?"

Naboo, suffice to say, wasn't enjoying it at all. The dressing gown was being clutched so tightly around his neck by the Hitcher that he was finding it difficult to breathe. He tried throwing his legs about wildly, trying to catch the Hitcher's kneecaps or other 'delicate male areas'. But as his supply of Oxygen began to diminish further he gave up, opting instead to try and drop out of the clothing. This didn't work either. And as he felt to world begin to turn grey at the edges; the Hitcher jumped violently forwards; dropping Naboo unceremoniously onto the cement.

…..

As soon as Howard had seen the position Naboo had got himself into, he sprang into action. Noting that Lance and Harold were still under the Hitcher's control, he realised that he would be of no help to Naboo if he ran over and tried to engage a fight. He knew deep down that he was no match for his doppelganger. Trying not to panic he had formulated a plan. Well, it was more of a 'plan' seeing as he had only got as far as to decide to go back to Vince's room and arm himself with the chair that was in there.

This done, he threw caution to the wind. As Howard peered once more around the edge of the warehouse door, he saw Lance and Harold staggering hurriedly away from the Hitcher, who happened to have Naboo dangling in front of him by his dressing gown.

Realising that now was the time to live up to his reputation as a 'man of action' Howard crept up behind the laughing cockney, signalling to Naboo to keep quiet, and abruptly swung the chair down onto his head. Trying not to cringe when he heard the crack of the impact. Naboo was flung backwards onto the hard floor; where he lay struggling to get his breath back. Howard only had time to register that there was some purple glowing pieces if old amulet next to him before the Hitcher jumped up, brandishing an old dagger.

Howard wasn't a fighter. He knew this. He knew that what had just happened with the chair was a rare fluke. He knew that he had about as much chance against the Hitcher and his dagger as a stray hair had against Vince and his hairspray. He knew all this, but he also knew he'd have to try, if not to just try and keep the Hitcher away from Naboo, who was still laying gasping on the floor. It briefly occurred to Howard that Naboo had been doing that too much lately.

But suddenly, he didn't have anymore time to think. The Hitcher squared up to Howard, and glaring at him, ran at him with the dagger pointed straight at his chest. Howard dodged, then ran backwards in a slight circle. Raising the chair in anticipation.

Sure enough, the Hitcher made another charge at Howard; but this time Howard blocked the dagger with one of the chair legs, managing to knock the Hitcher off balance slightly with the back of the chair. The Hitcher responded by throwing himself at Howard, knocking him to floor and making the chair fly out of his grip. He lay on top of him, holding the dagger teasingly above his throat, enjoying the look of panic in his eyes. Naboo was still trying to catch his breath; the combination of being strangled, and then winded as he hit the floor, had not been good for his already smoke-damaged lungs. Vince was still sat, trembling and silent, in the warehouse where Howard had left him; unaware of the action taking place outside. Even if he had known, Howard would have preferred for him to stay safe inside anyway.

Just when it seemed the Hitcher had won, as he pressed the point of the dagger harder against Howard's neck, causing a drop of blood to ooze out, there was a commotion from above. Someone was screaming in the sky.

The Hitcher looked up in confusion, and was greeted with the sight of Tony Harrison's flying pink underbelly for a few seconds before it hit him square in the face. The Hitcher pushed himself up in a panic, trying to claw the pink tentacles off his face. Howard took the chance to wriggle out from beneath the Hitcher, snatching the dagger from where it had fallen as he did. Hearing a noise behind him, he swung around to see Bollo running over to where he stood. Kirk was kneeling next to Naboo, helping him breathe through a pipe that looked suspiciously like a hookah. 'Well' Howard thought, 'Shamen will be shamen'.

In the distance he saw Saboo talking to a very dazed and confused Lance and Harold. He appeared to be giving them a lecture; Howard didn't pity them one bit. It was what they deserved.

Tony Harrison remained clinging to the Hitcher's face, laughing manically and apparently having the time of his life. Howard fought the urge to laugh as Bollo grabbed the Hitcher's arms and placed them in special Shaman handcuffs. Tony Harrison seemed unwilling to admit that his job was done. Choosing instead to continue shouting at the handcuffed green man.

"Take it you slag! Feel the wrath of the tentacled Tony Harrison! They say I can't handle the crunch, I _am _the crunch!"

"Tony, you finished now. We have Hitcher. You can get off face." Bollo grumbled.

Tony ignored him, continuing to scream obscenities at the immobile Hitcher. Bollo let him continue for a few minutes, before trying to swat him off the Hitcher's face, whilst keeping a firm hold on the handcuffed hands. Not that there was any chance a thumb of the size could slip through the metal circles.

Howard felt slightly giddy. He didn't know whether it was because their plan seemed to have, eventually, worked. Or if it was because he'd hit his head quite hard when the Hitcher jumped on him. Either way, the events around him seemed to be happening quite quickly, like how you would imagine someone stuck in a black hole would see the world outside. He felt distant, and a bit disorientated. It briefly crossed his mind that he could have concussion, before he was hit with the overwhelming urge to go to sleep. And since there was no one nearby to warn him of the dangers of doing so, he did.

…..

Howard was woken up by the feeling you get in dreams, when you think you're falling down the stairs or tripping up. What had actually happened was that he'd nearly rolled off the carpet - mid flight.

He was lying on the right hand side of the carpet, with Bollo at his side, and Saboo steering them (presumably) home. Turning his head slightly, Howard saw another carpet to their left, Being driven by Dennis with Kirk, Naboo, Tony and Vince as passengers. Naboo was looking a little worse for wear after his ordeal, but definitely better than earlier. He was sat up, leaning slightly on Kirk, who was not only supporting Naboo, but also holding onto Vince to ensure he didn't fall off the carpet.

Vince was lying perfectly still. If it wasn't for the gentle rise and fall of his painfully skinny chest, Howard would have guessed he was dead. Although even the thought of that being true scared him too much.

Howard realised he couldn't see the Hitcher anywhere, and he was almost concerned - before remembering that if he had indeed fallen off the carpet, he couldn't give less of a damn.

For now though, with sleep pulling his eyelids closer shut, he was content to know that Vince was ok, heading back home, where he would be looked after.

He was content to know that although everything most definitely hadn't gone to plan, it was almost over.

**Another A/N: We're nearing the end :'( Reviews? :D **

**(I'm also planning on going back and re-formatting Chapter 1, in case anyone was interested, because I looked back at it and got annoyed at how bad it looks!)**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Yes, I know, it's the last chapter. I'm actually feeling quite sad, because this was my first fanfic. :'(**

**But calm it guys - hold the tears for now please, you have a chapter to read. An unashamedly fluffy, kinda pointless, but still gave-me-hell-to-write, chapter. So - at your own leisure. **

**I really can't believe how long it's taken me to update. And reading back through the fic, it's almost ridiculous seeing how much my writing style has changed. I have plans to renovate this, and re-post it looking all shiny (: So keep a look-out! **

**This is dedicated to everyone who read this all the way to the end. Thank you so much for putting up with me, and my brain, and my sporadic-at-best updating, and just… everything. Love you guys x3 **

**Disclaimer: Its been 9 chapters, 3 bad guys, 5 Shamen, 1 polyjuice-ish potion, many hours of screaming at a computer, some lovely reviews, and much Vince-bashing. And yet I am sad to announce that no. I still do not own the rights to the Mighty Boosh. **

**To the end!**

Howard woke to a searing headache - he felt like someone had dumped half a house on his skull in the night. He groaned loudly and tried to sit up, only to be pushed back down to the bed again by a pair of firm hands. He looked up through the gloom and saw the head shaman Dennis; and immediately the events of the previous night came back to him - making his head hurt even more. He must have shown some of this discomfort in his expression as Dennis then wiped something cold and slimy across his forehead, (Howard had absolutely no desire to know what it was), and the pain lessened a little.

"It won't completely vanish. You _have _been unconscious for 36 hours. Your brain has much to catch up on."

36 hours? That would leave him at… midday - and sure enough Howard could see the faint light behind his drawn curtains, and silently thanked Dennis for keeping them closed. If this was how a hangover felt, he had absolutely no idea how Vince did it every weekend.

Vince.

Howard opened his mouth to try and ask about Vince, but all that came out was a hoarse croak. However Dennis had seemed to anticipate this, and merely said. "He is resting. As you should be. Naboo is fine also" here, Dennis sounded like he was scolding Howard for not enquiring after the small Shaman. " - he is helping Kirk to treat Vince's wounds. Saboo is doing all necessary paperwork with the help of Tony - if they continue at the rate they going, and with good luck, they should be finished by the end of the year."

Howard gave a raspy chuckle. Saboo and Tony were possibly the worst pair to ask to work together, and yet he couldn't imagine anyone else putting up with either of them for a prolonged amount of time. Even the _thought _of trying made him stressed. As much as he hated to admit it, his eyes began to feel heavy again, and he thought it would be useless to fight the urge to sleep. At least he knew that everything was being taken care of. Apart from one thing…

"wh's the 'itcher?" He mumbled, hoping that Dennis would be able to understand - so far his apparent mind reading had been good - and Howard doubted he'd be able to repeat himself when he could barely keep his eyes open.

"At a holding facility on Branyouli; the prison planet. Even the Hitcher will find it impossible to escape from there."

Howard smiled at the news, and succumbed to his desire for sleep. Letting the darkness remove the last of his aches and pains.

…..

The next morning he woke up to the sound of a pigeon sat on his windowsill. He felt well enough to get up, and for that he thanked his lucky stars. he thought that if he hadn't have been able to, he'd have gone mad with the sound of that infuriating bird all day. Using his bedposts as leverage Howard stood up on shaky legs - pleased that his head was no longer thumping as much as a Camden nightclub. Now it was just a drowsy lingering ache - nothing that a cup of coffee couldn't fix.

As he left the bedroom and entered the kitchen he sleepily noted that Vince's bed hadn't been slept in. Therefore he must be elsewhere in the house. Pleased with his pointless deductions, he poured himself a strong coffee, enjoying the feeling of the warmth it passed into his hands. He sipped it slowly, turning to gaze out of the window at the streets below, completely devoid of anyone. It seemed that everyone had decided that Sundays were not good days to shop on. Which they would probably be right in thinking, as most of the shops weren't open on Sundays.

He knew he was stalling. But in truth he was a little nervous to go and find Vince - he was scared of what he might find. His last memory was of the smaller man lying bruised and battered, barely breathing, on the edge of a carpet. And he knew that it was partly his fault he had ended up there.

But on the other hand, this was Vince. And Howard knew that he would rather have Vince hating him but safe at home, then Vince liking him but in danger with some green nut job. So he placed his mug in the sink, and set off to find him.

The silence around the flat was starting to feel a little eerie.

The living room was littered with various strange items. Sleeping bags covered the floor, empty potion bottles lay on their sides, scattered around the room was a multitude of dusty old books - all containing a variety of Shamanistic spells and cures. But no one was in there - which meant that they all had to be in Naboo's room.

Opening the door to Naboo's room carefully and quietly, he saw Naboo slumped in an armchair next to the bed. He looked shattered, with dark bags hanging under both eyes. Under the collar of his robes, Howard could see the faint remains of dark blue bruising. Saboo and Tony were in the corner having a whispered argument and surrounded by broken pencils and folders of legal papers; they barely looked up when Howard came in. He guessed this was the important paperwork and evidence which would send the Hitcher down for good, and thought it best not to disturb them. Dennis and Kirk were sat at the foot of the bed, bent over a small crystal ball and mumbling mysteriously about something or other, they too barely registered Howard's presence. And seeing the weird looks on their faces, he wasn't sure he'd want to get their attention anyway.

But at the centre of it all was Vince. He was laying on the bed, covered in patches of a green slimy substance which Howard took to be some kind of Shaman healing cream; at least, he hoped it was. His hair seemed to have grown a couple of inches, and covered some of the scalp that Howard had previously been able to see. For a moment he wondered if he had been asleep for another couple of weeks, somehow missing out on all the hair-growing, bruises-fading business - but then he saw a pot of 'Naboo's miracle re-growth gel' and knew that he had the tiny Shaman to thank for this speedy recovery. He sat on the edge of Vince's bed, careful not to move any part of his body - for fear he might hurt him.

He stayed sat there for about half an hour, deep in thought, until Saboo stood up, dragging Tony up with him and swept from the room - presumably for some lunch. Dennis and Kirk followed suit - Dennis gesturing towards Howard and the door, silently enquiring as to whether he was hungry, but he shook his head. He wasn't in the mood to eat.

Naboo suddenly started awake at all the movement, and seeing Howard sat with Vince gave him a reassuring smile. Howard smiled back, and gestured at the retreating Shamen, mouthing 'thank you' at Naboo, because without them their plan would have failed. Naboo smiled, gestured at the faded bruises on his neck and mouthed the same to Howard. When he noticed Howard glancing at Vince to check if he was alright; and knowing he needed some space, he got up and padded away with the other shaman.

Howard sighed a little, looking down at Vince's sleeping face. He wondered how long he had been asleep - whether he had woken up since they had brought him home, but he doubted it. He almost jumped out of his skin when Vince's eyelids fluttered a little and then opened, blinking drowsily in the relative darkness. When he saw Howard he seemed to jump, and Howard tried to calm him by placing a hand gently on his pale arm.

"Hey" He whispered. Not wanting to disturb the relative silence of the flat.

Vince smiled. "Hi" he croaked. Howard passed him some water that he found on the side - testing it first to make sure it wasn't some kind of Shaman alcohol or potion of some kind. Vince gulped it down too fast and almost choked, but Howard propped him up against some cushions so that he would be able to drink with more ease.

After he'd finished his drink, he looked exhausted again - but seemed unwilling to go back to sleep. Howard frowned, he didn't want to tire him out with conversation, but he needed to know that he was ok, "You alright?" He asked. Even though he knew it was a stupid question - of course he wasn't 'alright'.

Vince just nodded, but his face gave him away. He looked a little sad and lost, and vulnerable. Howard patted his arm reassuringly. "What's up little man?". Vince smiled a little at the nickname.

"Nightmares." He said. "But I'm ok. I know they're not real or nuffin'. And my bruises don't hurt as much as they did."

Howard wanted to cry at Vince's apparent determination _not _to cause a fuss. "Would you feel better if I stayed here?"

Vince nodded relieved; having Howard nearby calmed him a lot more than Naboo did. As much as he loved Naboo, Howard was the one who he felt most safe with. Spending those days without Howard had been like spending a few days without a lung, and having to cope with only one, but needing to breathe twice as much as usual. Lying back down again, Vince sighed heavily, and snuggled down under the covers. Howard made sure he was comfortable, and prepared to sit perfectly still - so as not to wake him up.

They been in that position for about half an hour, Vince sleeping quietly and Howard watching over him, when Vince began to shake a little, and his face screwed up.

Howard knew that he was having a nightmare, but he didn't know what to do. Should he wake him up? Or was it like sleepwalking, where it's dangerous to wake them? Was it even a nightmare? He could hear Vince mumbling into the duvet, and he moved closer to hear what he was saying, hoping it would give him some kind of clue.

"You didn't. No! Go away- Why?" It was just senseless mumbles, but he was obviously distressed. Howard placed his hands either side of Vince's head, until the man lay still, and began to breathe deeply again. He was surprised it had worked. He'd seen it on a Sci-Fi program once. "Howard." Vince sighed; and Howard almost thought he'd woken up, but a quick study of his face and he could see he was still asleep.

"Why didn't you come for me?" he whispered into the duvet "When I needed you, Howard, you weren't there. Why? Why weren't you there?"

Vince's mumbles struck Howard right through the chest, like a bullet ripping through his heart, and he reached for Vince's hand, crying silently as he whispered back in reply.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

….

Howard spent all night slumped next to Vince on Naboo's bed, not wanting to leave him all alone. He wondered dreamily how life had gone from being so simple, to so messed up in a matter of days. He almost wished he was a Shaman, or some other form of magical creature, able to click his fingers and make it all disappear. Turn back the clocks to that morning and tell Vince not to bother with the stocktaking. Hell - he'd tell him to go shopping and buy half of Topshop if he wanted.

But it was too late for that now.

It was weird, Howard supposed - seeing Naboo peek his head around the doorway to check if they were okay - that you could manage to find good things in the middle of a whole heap of rubbish.

He never would have realised how much Naboo and Bollo really cared, had this never had happened. He'd have carried on believing they were just the two musically-ignorant pricks he happened to live with. In that way, he was almost thankful that this had happened, if only to prove that he wasn't really as alone in life as he thought.

One glance at Vince's calm, sleeping face and he knew, though, that given a chance he would reverse all of this. He wouldn't even hesitate. Knowing that he had more allies than expected was a silver lining, sure, but he would do anything to make sure Vince was not hurt. Even go without any friends.

He was pretty sure he loved him.

Which was… new. A little confusing, definitely, but then - hadn't Vince always taken pride in confusing the masses?

He remembered what his dad had once told him when he was a youngster, he had sat him down at the dining room table, and given him what he had referred to as 'The most important thing you'll ever need to know'.

_Just remember son, When you meet someone that you couldn't live without, that you'd happily die for, someone you consider to be - if not perfect - then pretty damn close; it's Love. And you have to grab that with both hands. Because I'll promise you this; You only get one chance. One chance. And if you blow it, you'll regret it for the rest of your life. _

Yes. He was pretty sure that he loved the crazy, childish, brave, Rock and Roll Vince Noir. And nothing was going to change that.

…..

**1 Month Later**

"Oh c'mon Howard!" Vince shouted from the top of the ladder he was currently wobbling precariously on, "Get in the spirit!"

"But it's _November_!" Howard protested. "You have over a month until Christmas, why on Earth are you putting the decorations up now?"

Vince finished securing the end of the fairy lights above the doorframe and jumped down, "Because I like them, and they look good."

"If you get excited about Christmas now, there's no way you'll still be excited by the time it finally gets here."

"Oh shut-up you" Vince pouted, handing Howard a box filled with what looked like a multi-coloured array of tinsel.

"And why should I Sir?" Howard asked, mock offence in his tone.

"Because you love me" Vince winked, leaning over the box and placing a chaste kiss gently against Howard's lips.

"Fair do's." He conceded, grinning. He was never going to get tired of Vince, and Vince's kisses, and Vince's… other things. Not ever.

He remembered their first kiss, it was far from romantic - not a candle in sight - and yet it was one of the most perfect moments in Howard's life.

_Vince had been getting restless of lying in the bed. His hair was almost all grown back now, the bruises covering his body were healing rapidly, and the view from the tiny window was far from inspiring - and he was making sure everyone knew about it. The one thing he would miss about being kept in bed, however, were his chats with Howard. It'd been ages since they'd had a proper talk, and in light of recent events, they'd both had a lot they needed to say. _

"_I love you." That had been unexpected. Howard wasn't entirely sure how the words had slipped from his lips, practically of their own accord. He blushed a deep red and stared at the duvet. No point trying to take it back now. _

_Then Vince's hands had been on his, and his chin was being lifted until his eyes were level with the deep blue's of the smaller man. "Me too you whopping great git." _

_And then there were lips on his, and was amazing. Better than the first few notes of an acclaimed jazz piece. Better than the taste of nutmeg and cinnamon - the taste of Vince. _

_It was soft and sweet and over far, far too quickly. _

But Howard had smiled, and Vince had smiled back. And that was all that mattered really. That after all they'd been through, they'd soldier through it all. Together.

**A/N: And that's it. Thank you :3**


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